


A Different Sort of Knight's Tale

by goseaward



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Movie Fusion, Comedy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-05-17
Updated: 2004-05-17
Packaged: 2017-10-31 13:56:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/344793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goseaward/pseuds/goseaward
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A response to Beloved Enemies FQF Challenge #32, AU: Lucius and Harry are opposing knights in a tournament. To what lengths will they go to win? (Ruhgozler)</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Different Sort of Knight's Tale

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to my betas, Isolde (who fixed the ending...no really, it was worse before) and Obsessed One (who gave me the title). This fic is part of the Beloved Enemies Harry/Lucius Fuh-Q-Fest.

"Left, right, left, left, up, left, right, down, right, right, OW!" 

Harry threw his quarterstaff down. "Lord, I hate this." 

"So do I," Neville said, rubbing his reddened knuckles. "But it's important. If you want to be a knight, you've got to be skilled with _all_ weapons." 

"It's not like they're going to test me." Yanking off his helmet, Harry collapsed to the ground. "They probably won't believe me anyway." 

"You're good with the sword," Ron said. "You're learning with the lance." 

"Concorde is definitely a noble horse," Neville added as he hissed one last time at his hand, then tossed Harry a water skin. "You'll never have to do anything else in the tournaments." 

"I thought you just said I had to be 'skilled with _all_ weapons' to be a knight." 

Ron waved his hand. "The tournaments are very different from actual knighthood. As a knight, you are a protector, a warrior..." 

"Hey, which one of us was Sir Sirius's squire for fourteen years?" Harry asked. 

"And which one of us studied in a monastery for six?" Neville said. 

"Hey, at least my term ended because of Sir Sirius's retirement, not because of my stupidity." 

Neville flushed. "You know that wasn't it. And there are other kinds of knowledge than what the monks teach." 

"Exactly. Like knighthood." Harry capped the water skin and threw it back at Neville, who promptly dropped it. "Knighthood is about power, it's about blood, it's about--" 

"FIENDS!" yelled a voice just before a thin, dirty, and very naked blond man burst into the clearing and fell. 

"Well, yes, actually," Harry said. 

Ron rolled his eyes. "Stop staring at his arse and _help_ him!" 

"Oh! Right." Harry scooted over to where the man lay facedown on the grass. "Oi, mate, are you all right?" 

"I was so close to winning," he said into the grass. 

"Winning?" Harry asked sceptically. 

"The card game." The man's head lifted up and he looked at Harry with sad eyes. "But then I bid one last time and they decided my manuscript wasn't any good, and so they _took my clothes._ " 

"Erm, yes, I can see that." 

"Good." The man blinked. "I'm Draco." 

"Har...er, Sir Harold." 

" _You're_ a knight?" 

" _You're_ a writer?" Harry mimicked. 

"Yes." Draco smirked upwards as Neville dumped a horse blanket on his shoulders, then sat up, draping it around himself. He seemed not to care that he was still exposed. "I was not interested in the family, ah, profession, so I chose something I thought I'd be able to do well. I've always had a way with words, and my hand is very neat. I do letters, official documents, patents of nobility..." He looked pointedly at Harry. 

"Chatty, aren't you?" Harry asked. 

"I am a man of words." Draco spread his arms out wide, which gave Harry a very nice view. He may have been a knight-in-training, but he wasn't a saint. Draco noticed him looking. "Oh, wonderful. He's a country knight _and_ a homosexual. My luck just gets better and better." 

"Don't worry, he won't try to sleep with you," Neville said. 

Draco looked somewhat relieved until Ron added, "At least not more than anyone else." 

"And who are you two?" Draco asked, gathering the blanket around him again. 

"I'm Ron. Harry's, ah, squire," Ron said. 

"Me too," Neville said. "Neville." 

"You've got a squire who's older than you?" Draco said to Harry. 

"Neville's my age." 

"He's certainly larger," Draco said. "Sturdy. Portly." 

"He is a man of words," Neville said with a shrug. 

"And he's not exactly my squire, anyway. More like my assistant." 

"Mm. What does he assist you with?" Draco leered. 

"He seems to be getting more comfortable," Ron said. 

As if to prove his point, Draco pulled the blanket more tightly around him and settled down. 

Harry started to strip off the padding he wore for training. "Why were you running through the woods naked?" 

"Well, it's a long story..." 

"...and you're a man of words..." Harry said. 

"Well, you know why I lost my clothes, _sir_ , except that after I left, the good gentlemen from the _Horse's Arsenal_ \--" 

"You were _there_?" Ron said. 

Neville dropped the saddlebag he was attempting to repack. 

"--discovered that I had not precisely told them the quality of my clothes with full veracity--" 

"There's a shock," Harry said. 

"--and decided that perhaps they could extract it from me in other ways. Being a man of words, and not a man of violence, I took the logical route." 

Harry snorted. 

"You ran?" Neville said. 

"Yes! And look where it's got me...a knight protector of my very own!" Draco smiled at Harry in a way he obviously thought was rather winning, but which made him look quite drunk. 

"I thought you didn't believe that I was a knight?" Harry said. 

"Well, you've got the sword...or at least the scabbard..." 

Harry coughed and Ron flushed. 

"And the horse and some kind of assistant...squire...people..." He waved vaguely in Neville's direction. "I'm hoping you'll do something other than run." 

"We need to be moving if you're going to get to Rochester in time," Neville said. He jerked his head and rolled his eyes in Harry and Draco's direction. 

"Rochester?" Draco said, interested. 

"No, we've still got a few days," Harry said. Neville jerked more strongly. "Are you all right, Neville? You look like you've got the fits." 

Neville rolled his eyes and slumped in a classic "you idiot" gesture. 

"What?" Harry asked. 

"Did you say Rochester?" Draco said. 

"Yes. Nice tournament there this time of year." 

"Well, as it happens, I'm on my way to Rochester as well!" Draco tried the smile again. "Why don't we all travel together?" 

"We can protect you," Neville said. "What can you do for us?" 

Draco turned to look at him; Harry took the opportunity to stare at his blanket-clad arse again. 

"Why, I'm wonderful company!" Draco said. 

"Sure," Ron said, smirking at Harry. 

"I've got _them_ for company," Harry said. "And we like our rides together. Our _quiet_ rides together." 

Suddenly, Draco smiled. "I shall be your herald!" he announced. 

"My what?" 

"I think he'd better get in the tournament first," Neville said. 

"Hey!" Harry said. 

Draco, however, had ignored them all to stand grandly, blanket wrapped around him like some kind of fancy robe. "Well then. Let us go to the tournament!" 

*** 

"I can't believe you got in," Draco said for the fourth time. 

"Why not?" Harry asked, rubbing oil into the leather of his gauntlets. 

Harry had finally caved, buying Draco a pair of tan breeches and a soft red shirt to match Harry's red-and-gold. Instead of answering, Draco plucked at the hem of the sleeve again, looking dissatisfied. 

"There are a lot of good knights here, Harry," said Neville, scanning the lists through a chink in the stable wall. "Severus...remember him?" 

"Sirius hated him," Harry said. 

Draco moved on to the apparently inferior quality of his shoes. 

"Seamus...he's Finn's son?" 

Harry nodded. 

"Hmm. Justin from Wiltshire...oh that's interesting, his family's mostly falconers, you don't see them at tourney often. Colin of Cardigan. Gilderoy, even you shouldn't have trouble with him." 

"Hey!" Harry said. 

Ron laughed, checking the tack one last time for tears. 

"A couple of French knights...Olivier du Bois...Lucius de Malfoy. German, too, Victor...can't tell which family from here." 

"Thanks, Neville," Harry said. 

"I get it!" Draco said. Harry looked at him. "You've been using Neville as a forger." 

"Neville? Oh, he'd make a mistake somewhere." 

"Oi!" Neville said, trying to climb down from the bales of hay. He missed and slid down instead, ending up dusty-yellow and covered in hay. 

"Remind me, what am I forging?" Harry said. He moved onto polishing his breastplate. 

"Your patents of nobility." 

"Those aren't forged," Neville said. He righted himself. "Harry's _very_ aristocratic, aren't you, Harry." 

"In blood, anyway," Harry said. 

"And money," Neville added, brushing hay from his hair. 

"What else is there?" Ron asked. 

Harry waved his hand vaguely, spattering oil in Draco's direction. "Oh, you know." 

Draco looked in horror at a spot of oil three inches from his trouser leg. 

"Breeding," Neville said. "Sir Sirius wasn't the most instructive of guardians." 

"Sirius," Draco repeated, frowning. 

"Yeah." Harry gave the breastplate one last flick. 

Coronets blared; Neville stumbled to the hole again. "Justin and Victor. " 

"Good," Harry said. He patted his horse on the flank. "Concorde wants to rest more, don't you, Concorde?" 

The horse snorted at Neville, who was climbing down again. 

"This tourney isn't very well organized," Draco said. "You don't even know when you're tilting." 

"At least I know who." 

"Really?" 

"Yes." Harry paused. "Or Neville does. Neville, who is my first competitor?" 

"Gilderoy Lockhart. I told you, you won't have any trouble with him." 

After a pause, Draco said again, "Sirius Black." 

"Yes. My godfather," Harry said. 

"God, that explains a lot," Draco said. "All the Blacks are crazy." 

"And how would _you_ know?" Ron asked. He brandished the needle in Draco's direction. 

"How frightening," Draco said sarcastically, then turned back to Harry. "Anyone in England knows the Blacks. Crazy and amoral." 

"Sirius has very strong morals," Ron said. "You know, I'm really starting to not like you." 

"Sirius has loyalty and charm, but he's not big on morals, Ron." Harry handed his breastplate to Neville, who held it up as Harry threaded his arms through the appropriate holes. 

"Remember when Remus wanted a moonstone ring and the only large one they could find was in that clock in the chandler's shop?" Neville said. 

"Oh god--the look on his face--" Ron said, laughing. 

"Hmm?" Draco said. 

"Oh, nothing." Harry shrugged his shoulders, getting the armour set. "So, how are you going to introduce me?" 

Draco's eyes shifted to one side. "Perhaps today isn't the best of days," he said. 

"Well, the tournament starts today, I don't know what would be better." 

"I--gambling creditors--" He waved in the direction of the lists. 

"Ah." Harry nodded and pulled on the gauntlets Neville was holding out. 

A roar from the stadium interrupted them, and Neville clambered back up to the chink in the wall. "Victor was the, um, victor. And--you're up next, Harry." 

"Right. Help me up?" 

Neville and Ron both moved over to the horse and helped Harry hoist himself and his armour up. Neville took his place by the horse's head, Ron on the opposite flank, and as they walked out of the stable Draco pressed himself further into the hay. 

*** 

"I told you you wouldn't have any trouble," Neville said as they prepared for the first night's feast. 

"Yes, you did." Harry rotated his shoulder and winced. "I love how no trouble means getting my shoulder turned to porridge." 

"Eh, you can take it," Ron said. 

Harry grabbed a blue tunic from the floor and pulled it on. "Sure. So, do you think I'll have to dance tonight? Because Sirius always did, but he never taught me." 

"Great godfather, there," Draco said. 

"Well, at least you don't have to worry about making an arse of yourself around the women. You don't care," Ron said. 

"And you're always an arse, anyway," Neville said. 

Harry made a noncommittal sound and dragged on a pair of trousers, using the angle to get a look at Ron's arse. 

"Stop that!" Ron said, grabbing both arsecheeks with his hands. "No ogling! This arse is solely for the womenfolk!" 

"In the sense that you're a woman?" Draco said with a smirk from the corner. 

"OI!" Ron leapt across the room, or at least tried to; Neville caught his arm at the last minute. 

"I mean, you spend a rather large amount of time telling Harry _not_ to look at your arse. It must be on your mind a lot." 

"Draco," Harry said warningly. 

"Harry," Draco mocked, but sulked in his corner instead of continuing. 

"What do you think the reaction would be if I danced with a bloke?" Harry said. "Sirius used to do it, but he had a line of women halfway across the country that could verify he was not entirely queer." 

"Wait until all the women are taken," Neville said. "Then it will just be showing off." 

"And then I'll have to dance with them when a new dance comes. No, thank you." 

"Screw what they think," Draco said. "Dance with a man. There are worse things." 

"Such as?" 

"Losing," Draco said, glaring at Harry's shoulder. 

"Glad he's got his priorities straight," Ron said. "This is just silly stuff. You'll win tomorrow and then who's going to care?" 

Neville made big calf eyes in Ron's direction. "Ron has no sense of romance." 

"Odd for a girl," Draco said. 

Ron growled. 

"Probably the opportunity won't even come up," said Harry. "You'll be all right without me?" 

"Sure," Neville said. 

Ron nodded. 

Draco pulled out a thin stack of parchment and a quill. "Guess I'll just have to work on my book." 

Neville looked at him. "Where'd you get that?" 

Draco ignored him in favour of settling in against the edge of the tent. 

"Erm...have fun," Harry said. 

"You too!" Ron and Neville chorused. 

With a small shake of his head, Harry let the tent flap fall back, then walked out of the tent area and across a great swathe of grass to the castle. He could see a few guards on the parapets, but there were none visible guarding the open entranceway. Torches lit the way to the hall where tables lined the walls, laden with as much food as Harry had ever seen, and where a small group of musicians played light music as a few people danced in the open centre of the room. Harry greeted the hosts briefly then, attempting stealth, slunk along the side of the hall, hoping to find a quiet seat near the lovely roast lamb. 

He looked ahead of him to see the most breathtaking man he'd ever seen. 

The man's back was turned to him, but he was on the tall side and well-built. Broad, powerful shoulders emphasized the planes of his back. Long blond hair lay smooth and shining down to mid-bicep. Best of all, his arse was compact and muscular, moving under the fine material of his trousers in a way that was positively lewd. Harry became aware that he was staring only when the man turned and...love of God...looked Harry up and down the same way. 

And then he started to move forward. 

This gave Harry a good chance to observe the man's front. He had surprisingly fine features, a thin aristocratic nose and a slightly weak jaw. His chest was every bit as muscular as his shoulders indicated, and he walked with the easy grace of one who is used to wearing heavy armour and finds himself unexpectedly light. With every step, the cloth of his trousers outlined the bulge at his groin. Strong thighs, large blunt-fingered hands... Harry made himself look back up at the man's face, and had to swallow at the look in his eyes. 

Harry smiled quickly as the man approached, and received in return a lazy smirk. The man stopped much closer than was absolutely necessary, and Harry had to swallow again. 

"I assume you're Sir Harold of the Potter family?" the man said. 

"Oh--yes," Harry said. "I'm afraid I don't know you." 

"Sir Lucius de Malfoy. We will be tilting tomorrow." 

"Ah." The man--Lucius--was looking at him expectantly, grey eyes amused. "You're French?" 

"Of course. _Je connaissais tes parents, surtout ta me. Elle était une fille fameuse._ " 

"I'm sorry," Harry said. "I don't speak French." 

Smiling, Lucius said, "Ah. We could have had such wonderful conversations." 

"Sorry," Harry said again. "Your accent's very good." 

"I was raised to speak four languages," Lucius said. "You were Sir Sirius's squire, I hear?" 

Harry nodded. "For fourteen years, actually." 

Lucius smiled again and Harry thought his heart would stop. "I'm sure he trained you well, then. Sirius was known for his...manners...in company." 

"Yes, he was," Harry said. How much should he tell this man? "He didn't really teach me that much. I mean, I was his godson, but also his squire, so he taught me more about fighting than manners." 

"Ah." Lucius nodded. "So you're a competitor I should look out for." 

"I suppose," Harry said. 

Lucius shifted his stance, and Harry couldn't help but look at the pectorals sliding under his deep green tunic. "That's quite an interesting scar, Harry. How did it occur?" 

Harry's hand went to his forehead before he could stop himself. "Oh--the raid on my family when I was younger. The servant dropped me getting me out. Saved my life, but cracked my head open." 

"Ah." Lucius looked at it again. "I see." 

"Um..." Harry cast around for a conversation topic. "Why are you competing in England?" 

"I like to vary my company," Lucius said, dropping his eyes so Harry had every idea what he meant. "And, of course, my competition." 

"Of course," Harry echoed. 

Lucius stepped closer. "I should go speak to some others." He rested one hand on Harry's shoulder, and Harry could feel every finger. "I hope to see you again, Harold." 

"Harry," Harry said. "And you will." 

"Good," Lucius said, then released him. 

Harry made his way, shaky, to the roast lamb he'd eyed originally. He made himself small behind the table and watched Lucius dance with several capable partners of both genders. He looked wonderful, even as he was flirting with one of the women. A couple of times, a woman would start to approach Harry, only to be stopped by one of her companions with a nod in Lucius's direction. Finally Lucius exited the dance floor with one of companions. Harry sighed and gave up; without anyone to watch, he was too bored. 

He made his excuses to the lord and his wife, then walked out onto the lawn. Just as he was about to leave the darkness edging the castle, he felt a hand grasp his upper arm and tug him back. Instinctively Harry went for his belt knife, but then he recognized the glint of blond hair in the dim starlight. 

"Did you think I would let you get away so easily?" Lucius asked, and before Harry could even answer, Lucius's mouth was on his. The kiss was hot and wet and Harry was glad Lucius was pressing him back against the stone wall because he wasn't otherwise sure he'd still be upright. 

After a few long heady moments, Lucius broke the kiss. "I'm afraid you'll be leaving after your defeat tomorrow, but I shall hope to see you at Lichfield," Lucius said. 

"How do you know you'll defeat me?" 

Lucius kissed him soundly again. "I will. Goodnight, Harold." And with that, he disappeared back inside. 

*** 

When Harry got back to the tent, he found Ron sitting asleep against one of the tent poles, Draco's slumbering head in his lap. 

"That's odd," he said to Neville. 

"Don't tell me, I'm the one who's had to look at it all night," Neville said from his pallet. 

Draco's parchment had fallen into a messy sheaf next to his hip, and his quill was lying on top of it. Harry did a double-take: no ink had spilled out across the parchment, and there was no inkwell in sight, but there were definitely words on the page. 

"Neville, have you seen him use ink?" Harry asked. 

"What?" 

"Ink." Harry pointed at the paper. "There's writing, but no ink." 

"He must have it hidden somewhere." Neville plumped his pillow and lay back down. "Going to sleep any time soon?" 

"Ah, sure." Harry stripped down and snuffed out the candles. The night was uninterrupted except for the brief scuffle when Draco and Ron woke up and leapt apart, so Harry was well-rested and ready for his first tilting the next morning. 

"Now, remember," Ron said, "Lucius won last year's tourney here, so be careful. He's a lot better than Lockhart." 

"He won last year?" Harry said. 

"What, you didn't know?" Neville handed him his lance. 

"No! And you pick _now_ to tell me?" 

"Er, sorry," Ron said. "Best of luck!" 

"You need new help," Draco said from the thick black cloak in which he was hiding. 

"Any suggestions?" Harry asked as the flag went down. 

It was easy to be distracted by Lucius: he left his hair long so that it flew behind him in a shining banner when he rode, and his green-and-silver looked absolutely marvellous against the pale-yellow hair and glinting armour. 

_Pay attention, Harry!_ he commanded himself as he spurred Concorde forward. 

His lance felt heavy and familiar in his hands it tipped forward, and he knew when they were still ten feet away that he would hit true. Lucius's lance looked wobbly, uncertain, and Harry felt a moment of pure triumph right before his lance glanced off Lucius's shoulder and Lucius's broke squarely over his sternum. 

The crowd roared as Harry brought Concorde to a stop on the other end. Neville, Ron, and Draco came running up. "Are you okay?" "Did your armour hold up?" "Just a little closer to the centre and you'd have been fine!" 

"Ow?" Harry said. 

"It can't hurt that much every time," Draco said. 

"And how many times have YOU been mashed by a really long pole?" 

"I don't think you want me to answer that," said Draco. 

Harry coughed. 

"You're all bloody perverts," Ron said. 

The flag dropped. "All right, here we go, number two," Neville said. 

This time seemed even better than before. The sun was now in Lucius's eyes, Harry's lance was set more safely in his hand, Concorde was a smooth muscular machine between his thighs, oh that was a bad thought to be having with Lucius riding towards him, the lance's arc downwards was perfectly controlled, what would Lucius think if he lost again, would he think Harry was a complete bottom, because he wasn't...oh bloody _hell_. 

The sound of Lucius's lance shattering against his shoulder hit his brain the second before the shock of pain. 

"Well, at least you haven't lost a lance yet," Ron said brightly when Harry stopped at the other end. 

"Because money is obviously one of my worries," Harry said. 

"Oh, they're going quickly this time, good luck!" Neville said. 

And this time, Concorde was going too fast, he hadn't really had time to reset his hand on the lance, Lucius seemed too far away...and the jolt in his hand told him the lance broke. He couldn't see it since his helmet had been knocked an inch upwards by Lucius's direct hit to the chin. 

Harry pulled his helmet off at the other end and looked at the slightly-dented front. 

Ron looked at it and said, "That's no good, it makes a place for someone to hit next time." 

"Really," Harry said. 

"At least you got Lucius too--hit him right in the shoulder socket, split the joint a bit," Neville said. 

"Wonderful. And I'm out of the tourney." 

"Well, at least you'll stop getting hurt," Draco said. When Harry glared, he added, "I didn't want to listen to your whinging any more." 

"Let's find a blacksmith," Neville said as he helped Harry down. "Better get this fixed before we leave." 

*** 

Harry wandered among the tents, looking for a blacksmith. Everything was so haphazard; he wished there was some kind of order, but meat pie vendors set up shop right next to tailors, who were right next to potters. There had to be a blacksmith somewhere... 

"Hey!" said a female voice. 

"Sorry?" Harry asked, looking around. 

"You need a blacksmith," said a woman balancing two pails of water on a yoke across her shoulders. 

"Yes, actually." 

"Come with me." 

Harry followed meekly as she led the way to a small tent a way down the lane. 

"Here! What's the problem?" she asked, dumping the water into a large barrel. 

"Shouldn't I tell the blacksmith?" 

The woman put her hands on her hips. "I thought you'd have a wider worldview." 

"Why would you think that?" Harry asked, confused. 

"Well, you had quite the _conversation_ with a man at the feast last night." At Harry's shocked look, she said, "Everyone knows, obviously." 

"All right. Who's the..." 

"I'm the blacksmith!" she interrupted. "I thought you were gay, not an idiot." 

"Sorry?" 

"And you really need to do something about this deer-in-the-lanternlight look," she said. "It's really very unbecoming on you." 

Harry blinked at her for a minute. "My helmet's been bashed in. I suppose you know that, too." 

"Oh, so you can be snippy? I'm afraid that won't do." She tapped her toe for a minute, then said, "Aren't you going to apologise?" 

"Oh. I'm very sorry, Miss...?" 

"Granger. Hermione." She stuck out her hand, and Harry shook it. "Good God, maybe it wasn't an act. Your HELMET." 

"Oh!" Harry said, and passed it over. 

"Yes...yes, I can fix this in an hour, no problem." 

"Good. How much do you want?" 

Hermione looked up with bright brown eyes. "Take me to the next place you're going." 

Harry blinked. "Don't you care where?" 

"As long as it's not here, no." 

"I'll have to ask my squires." 

"They won't say no." 

"How do you know?" 

"The redhead's got a crush on you, the blond one's not in any bargaining position, and the podgy one's desperate to have someone who's not gay to converse with. You'll be fine." 

"How do you..." 

Finally, Hermione cracked a smile. "Neville's been around a couple of times while you were busy. An hour? I'll be packed." 

"Um, okay," Harry said. "An hour, then." 

He walked off, dazed. 

*** 

Draco was looking around nervously at the trees. "Are you sure we're going in the right direction?" 

"Yes," Harry said. 

Draco twitched as a bird flew overhead. "Because these woods look an awful lot alike--" 

"They're woods," Ron said. "They're supposed to look alike." 

Hermione said, "Not necessarily. There are different types of--" 

"Not this again," Draco moaned. 

"Aren't we a happy little family?" Neville said to Harry. 

Harry didn't answer. After a few moments, Neville said, "We lost Harry again." 

"Oh, great," Ron said. He leaned back as far as the lead-rope would allow and prodded Harry on the shoulder. "Harry? Harry! HAROLD JAMES POTTER!" 

Harry blinked. "What? Oh. Yes, Ron?" 

"He must have met a man," Draco said. "So who was it?" 

"Who was who?" 

"The man." 

Harry smiled innocently. "What makes you think I'm thinking about a man?" 

"The raging erection," Draco said. 

Ron snickered while Harry practically leapt to the other side of Concorde. 

"Hey! There are ladies present!" Harry yelled. 

"You're the one with the boner," Ron said. 

"I don't mind," Hermione said. "It's a perfectly natural reaction." 

Harry leaned his head into Concorde's flank. "Somebody hurt her for me." 

"But we like her," Neville said. 

Harry closed his eyes and leaned against a tree as Ron continued forward with the horse. 

"I see you've taken care of your little problem," Draco said. "I thought you'd be quick, but that was short by any standard." 

"Thanks," Harry said, just as Neville said, "Oh!" and started searching the ground. 

"What'd you drop this time?" Harry asked without opening his eyes. 

"Mum's ring." 

Pushing himself off the tree, Harry crouched down to help him look. Neville picked up the shiny bit of silver, and as he held it up there was a crash and a yell ahead. 

"Concorde!" Harry yelled, running. "Ron, what happened?" 

Ron was pulling fractured sticks from around the horse's legs. "Some kind of trap," he said. "Not very strong, Concorde broke right through the wood." 

"Oh, God." Harry knelt down next to the horse. "We'll find whoever set this trap! Brave, brave Concorde, you shall not have died in vain!" 

"He's not quite dead." 

Harry considered. "Well, you shall not have been mortally wounded in vain!" 

Ron threw the last of the sticks away and petted Concorde's nose. "Actually, he's fine, Harry. I told you, he broke right through?" 

"You have no appreciation for parody," Harry said. 

Ron blinked. "What?" 

"Nothing, nothing." 

"Are we going to keep walking," Draco said, "or do I have to watch you two mooning over the horse?" 

"Ron?" Harry said, running his hand along Concorde's side. 

"He's fine." 

"We'll go," Harry said. 

After a few minutes of silence, Ron asked, "So, how exactly will the tent situation work?" 

"Not as if you care, Weasley," Draco said. 

"Of co...Weasley?" 

"Red hair, freckles, not enough money." 

Ron's eyes bulged. 

Hermione stepped neatly between them. "I've my own tent, so you won't have to sleep with me." 

"I doubt they would have, anyway," Neville said. 

"And what's that supposed to mean?" Ron asked. 

Harry broke in, "I think we need a break." 

Hermione rolled her eyes; Draco sighed; Ron rubbed his temples. 

"Who's the sacrificial lamb?" Neville asked. 

"That depends," Harry said. "Who feels like helping me?" 

*** 

Apparently, Hermione felt most like helping, or at least most able to reset the weighted target every time Harry made a hit. 

Draco, leaning against a tree, said, "I don't see why you think it's such a big deal. Harry barely ever hits it." 

Hermione dragged the counterweight back around. "Do you want to do this?" she said. 

"Of course not." 

"Because I'd really like a break," Hermione said. "And I actually have something to offer this group." 

Harry hit the target again, and Hermione had to duck. 

"I have things to offer," Draco said. "I'm a herald." 

"Heralding seems to involve a lot of sitting on your arse," Harry said, bringing Concorde to a halt. 

Ron sighed. "It's always the arse with you, isn't it?" 

"It's not the arse," Harry said. "Most of the time." 

Neville took the lance from Harry and helped him down. 

Draco brushed some dirt off his trousers. "Are we all rested?" 

"Not Concorde," Harry said. 

Draco snorted. "Well, we can't have the horse tired, now can we?" 

While Harry found a place on the ground, Neville unpacked lunch. He only managed to drop a couple of pieces of bread in the dirt. 

"I meant to ask," Draco said. "Whence did the pony come?" 

"Man of words," Ron muttered. 

"Better than man of horse," Draco said. 

Harry sighed. "We picked Bill up in Rochester. With you two travelling along," he nodded to Draco and Hermione, "we figured we'd have more we needed to carry. And really, using Concorde as a pack horse..." 

"Harry, is there something you'd like to tell us?" Draco sneered at the bread and cheese, but took a bite anyway. 

"About what?" 

"You and the horse?" 

"HEY!" Ron said. "Be nice to him." 

"Oh, that's the best you can come up with?" Draco said, but returned to his food. 

After a relatively quiet lunch, they started off again. Harry was just settling into the rhythm of walking when a man appeared out of the brush to their left. He was quite tall, robed, and appeared to be wearing a tree stump on his head. 

"Excuse me?" Harry said. 

"NI!" the man yelled. Voices echoed him from the surrounding woods: "Ni! Ni! Ni!" 

"Who are you?" Harry said. 

"We are the knights who say NI!" the man yelled again. 

"Ni! Ni! Ni!" 

"Didn't you hear?" Harry said. "Ron killed the parody." 

"Oh." The man deflated. "So sorry." 

"Don't worry about it." 

The man disappeared back into the trees, and Harry continued on, ignoring the strange looks of his companions. 

*** 

As Neville helped Harry out of his gauntlets, he said, "Well, the good news is, you're not meeting Lucius until the second-to-last round of the tournament, if you make it that far." 

"All right," Harry said. "What's the bad news?" 

"You have to tilt with Sir Severus tomorrow, and he's dirty as they come." 

"I can handle him," Harry said. "And I can handle Lucius. I've been practicing." 

"An hour a day while travelling isn't enough, Harry." Neville handed Harry a piece of towelling. "You really need to stop somewhere and just practice." 

"But--" 

"I know, I know, it's tournament season. After, though. You'll do better next year." 

Harry blinked. "I'm not doing well now?" 

"Three wins in four games isn't bad, Harry, but the three wins were against knights as green as you are. Until you beat an experienced opponent, you're just a gifted amateur." 

"Hey!" 

Neville shrugged. "Anyway, you've got a banquet in an hour. You should get ready." 

Harry nodded and stood up. "Thanks, Neville." 

"Don't mention it," Neville said. 

As Harry expected, Sir Lucius was at the feast. He seemed to be holding court with a group of other knights, though, so Harry practiced his usual slink-along-the-edges trick and settled in near the roast potatoes. After a socially acceptable period of time, Lucius moved his way through the crowd to Harry's position. 

"Hello, Harry," he said with appraising glance downwards. 

"Lucius," Harry said. 

"Enjoying the potatoes?" 

"Of course. And the music?" 

"Excellent, as always." Lucius looked at the dance floor. "I should dance. The sacrifices we make for politics, yes?" 

Harry nodded. 

"You're welcome to stop by my tent later, of course," Lucius said. 

"Of course," Harry said. 

"And if not, I shall see you tomorrow." 

"Of course," Harry said again. 

He waited until nearly eleven o'clock, which he figured was probably early enough to be appropriate but late enough to be suggestive (and how he wished Sirius had thought to teach him this!), and then he went to the large silver-and-green tent that had to be Malfoy's and opened the tent flap. "Lucius?" he called--and then he saw him. 

Lucius was sitting with his back turned, just as Harry had first seen him. But this time he was shirtless, and the sight was better than Harry had imagined: Lucius was thickly muscled, powerful, and his beautiful pale skin seemed to be shining in the lantern light. Looking closer, Harry could see a few thin white scar lines crossing his shoulders and upper arms. He had a moment to drink in the sight before Lucius turned around and smiled. 

"Come in," he said, his voice lower than before, and in that instant Harry was as hard as he'd ever been. 

He stepped in, and Lucius added, "Make sure you close the flap well." Harry did up the toggles and then stood there, uncertain. 

Lucius rose, obviously in the same state Harry was. Very obviously. "Well, are you going to come here?" he said. 

"Yes," Harry said, and did. 

Lucius's hands immediately went to Harry's shirt, pulling it over his head. Then he pulled Harry closer, letting their chests rub together, just as Harry had been dreaming about, and kissed him. 

And if Harry had thought the last kiss had been powerful, he knew now how wrong he was. He was almost smothered in this kiss, almost drowning, the quick darts of tongue pulling him toward a rushing he couldn't escape. It was almost too much, too soon, but he'd been waiting so long he didn't dare to stop now. Off in the distance, he was aware of the fact that Lucius had wrapped his hands around Harry's back and was dipping his fingers under the waist of Harry's trousers, but Harry just rested his hands on Lucius's chest, letting the movement of the muscle do its own rubbing for him. When Lucius drew Harry's tongue into his own mouth, Harry shifted his hands so his fingers brushed the edges of Lucius's nipples, and he felt more than heard the moan that produced. 

One of Lucius's hands slipped further inside his trousers, caressing his arse; Harry bucked forward and felt the hard line of Lucius's cock meet his. With a wet noise Lucius let the kiss go, picked up Harry, and carried him towards the pallet. 

After he'd set Harry down, Lucius stripped off his trousers without preamble, so Harry did the same. Then they were both naked and falling onto the pallet, a slow mixing of hands and tongues and cocks. 

Harry found himself flat on his back, Lucius's hips digging into the insides of his thighs, and so he went for the powerful chest again, rubbing and licking and kissing while Lucius closed his eyes in pleasure above him. In this position his long blond hair was falling over his shoulders onto Harry's, and the tickling was just enough to ground him. Lucius was moving his hips slowly, letting his cock nudge the base of Harry's, and Harry started to rock his own hips, seeking more. 

As if understanding, Lucius suddenly had a bottle of something liquid, something clear, which had only one possible purpose. He reached down and stilled Harry's hips, then held him in place with one hand on his stomach while he went to open the bottle. 

Something flared in Harry's stomach. Oh, so he was just going to lie there, was he? He sat up, nearly hitting Lucius's head with his own, and grabbed the bottle. Lucius sat back and watched him with grey eyes as he uncorked it and dribbled some of the contents on his fingers. 

Harry had to bite back a moan as his fingers touched his entrance. Lucius was still watching him, one hand starting to rub his prick in slow strokes. Harry caught Lucius's eyes, and as they stared at each other he slipped the first finger inside himself. Lucius's eyes sparked with desire. 

Harry knew he was going too fast, but he slipped the second finger in anyway, watching Lucius as Lucius watched Harry's fingers fucking his own arse. He tried to spread the liquid around as best he could, but Lucius's gaze and his own need were too much for him to try for long. He grabbed the bottle again, withdrew his fingers, and added more of the liquid. He batted Lucius's hand away from his prick with his dry hand, then spread the liquid onto him with the other. Then he climbed into Lucius's lap, positioned the other man's cock, and slid down. 

It was everything Harry had imagined: the girth of him, the burning stretch as Harry slithered downwards, the way Lucius's chest fluttered as he couldn't quite catch his breath. As soon as he was seated, Lucius turned them both and lay down, and Harry started to slide up and down at a pace his thighs could barely handle. After a few thrusts he moved one hand to his cock; Lucius brushed Harry's hand away and wrapped his own fingers around the hard flesh. Harry caught his breath and looked down for a minute at Lucius's pale fingers against the red of his cock. Then he leaned forward and rested his hands on Lucius's shoulders, moving faster faster stronger, slamming his hips up and down into Lucius, and all the while Lucius was rubbing his cock in long full strokes, pulling him to the rushing edge. 

Harry shifted, or Lucius shifted, and suddenly Lucius was sliding past his prostate with every thrust, which was more than Harry could take and with a groan and a rushing sound in his head he came all over Lucius's hand and stomach. 

He stilled, spent, so Lucius grabbed his hip and his back and flipped them over, pounding in hard and fast until he came hot and pulsing deep in Harry's body. 

Heedless of the sticky mess, he fell forward onto Harry's chest, and for a few minutes they lay there panting and sweaty, skin to skin. 

Presently Lucius said, "You should go back before they find you." 

Harry nodded and Lucius moved back. They didn't stick together; Lucius must have cleaned them when Harry wasn't looking. 

"Tomorrow?" he said to Lucius. 

Lucius said, "If you're still here," which was comforting and familiar. 

Harry left with a smile and an answering smirk from Lucius. 

*** 

Harry was a little sore the next day, but not quite sore enough to make jousting difficult. He tied Sir Severus (who broke three lances; Harry got a lucky head shot on the last to make up the difference from the first run). He beat a couple of other young knights easily, and Sir Severus made a couple of key mistakes, ending up just behind Harry in the rankings. 

"So, I'm a green knight, huh?" Harry asked as they watched his name go up for the next round instead of Severus's. 

"I'd watch him," Draco said. "He won't be happy you made it up there instead of him." 

"Well," Harry said, "if he'd done better against everybody else he wouldn't've had the problem, right?" 

Neville nodded, frowning. "Right. You're up against Lucius de Malfoy again." 

"I know." Harry smiled a little, but Draco caught it. 

"Lucius?" he said, incredulous. 

Ron looked up. "What?" 

"You were gone last night for _Lucius de Malfoy_?" 

"Um," Harry said. 

"Oh my God," Draco said. 

"What?" 

Draco looked like he'd swallowed a coconut. "You don't know anything about him. You can't." 

"Are you lost?" Ron said to Neville. "Because I'm very lost." 

Harry set his jaw. "And what should I know?" 

"I can't even talk about this," Draco said, blinking, eyes wide. "Ask them at the banquet tonight." 

"Okay," Harry said, "I will." 

Draco was still glaring daggers at him, so Ron took his elbow and dragged him off with a promise of food. Harry sat down, staring at the floor...what could Draco know that Harry didn't? Finally Neville tapped his shoulder and pointed to the tent, so Harry could get ready for the feast. 

Lucius was, again, off with a group of other nobles, so Harry, again, found the choice item of food: roast pork, this time. As he dished up a bit of the meat and vegetables, he felt someone standing just behind him, so he turned. There was Sir Severus in all his beaky glory. 

Harry stepped back to let Severus at the food, but instead of serving himself, Severus spoke. "I hope you realize how lucky you are," he said. 

"I tilt well," Harry said. "I wouldn't consider that luck." 

Severus twitched his mouth to one side. "And, of course, it's luck that Sir Sirius agreed to take on the son of a commoner." 

"He took on the legitimate son of his best ally," Harry said. Severus is just mad, he thought to himself. "I don't see how that's a problem." 

Severus continued as if he hadn't heard. "Managing to survive an attack that killed every other member of your household isn't luck, either." 

Harry straightened up. "At least a few servants got out." 

"No they didn't," Severus said. "Allegations of witchcraft, wasn't it? An angry mob?" 

That was a bit too far. Through gritted teeth, Harry said, "Started by a rival who wanted my father's lands." 

"If it makes you feel better. God knows we can't inconvenience Harold Potter," Severus said. 

Over Severus's shoulder, Harry saw Lucius turn and give him a faint smile before moving to another group. Severus saw his glance and turned, then turned back, smirking. "Ah, Lucius Malfoy." 

"Yes," Harry said. 

Severus narrowed his eyes, then suddenly smiled--which was a good deal more frightening than any of his glares. "Oh, my. So I have before me the last of the Potters." 

"You make assumptions," Harry said. 

"I do. And what an interesting choice of companion!" Severus looked like a vulture who had found a particularly meaty corpse. "Not only do you take up with a man, but with a man who was strongly allied with the lord that you say incited the mob that killed your family, a man who makes and breaks allies like his lances, and who couldn't even keep his only son in check." 

Harry could see several people close by nodding their heads, but he'd caught on only one word. "He's married?" 

"Ah, the ending of a dream," Severus said with glee. 

Harry frowned. "His wife doesn't travel with him, though." 

"Of course not. She stays home and tries to write to her son. He took more after his father, but Narcissa could never see it. I'm really surprised Lucius never told you." He didn't look surprised. 

"The son's disowned, then?" 

"No, he just runs wild. Writes or some such nonsense." 

One helpful listener said, "I hear he's in England," but silenced when both Harry and Severus glared. 

"I'm sure he's still in France," Severus said. "Draco's too much of an elitist to be happy anywhere else." 

Draco? 

Over Severus's shoulder, Harry could see Lucius working his way closer. Oh God, he couldn't deal with this now. "I should be returning. It was enlightening, Severus." 

"I'm sure," Severus said. "You fight Lucius tomorrow, correct?" 

Harry nodded. 

"Then I hope your luck holds." Severus turned to the food, and Harry put down his own plate, suddenly not at all hungry. 

He managed to make it out of the hall without Lucius following him. When he walked into the tent, his three companions were, as usual, asleep; also as usual, Ron and Draco were draped across each other. 

"So," Harry said loudly. Ron and Draco stirred and sprang apart. 

"So you're Lucius de Malfoy's son," Harry said. 

Draco's eyes opened wide. "There are reasons--" 

"I'm tired. We'll talk about it in the morning." He put out the candles and slid into bed, but his anger kept him awake until long after the others had gone back to sleep. Eventually he got too frustrated and went over to Lucius's tent again. Draco's hiding was much more of an irritant than Lucius's few omissions, and anyway, there was something to be said for working out one's frustrations. 

*** 

In the morning, Draco was gone. 

Ron wanted to search right away, but Harry had to fight; so he sent Ron and Hermione off to search for information and kept Neville around to help him. 

His armour was heavy on his shoulders, and his thighs protested the spread they needed to mount Concorde, which hadn't happened since he was a new squire at the age of seven. Lucius, of course, seemed to be having no trouble. 

_Well_ , Harry told himself, _he wasn't the one straddling a great bloody ox last night_. 

He managed to break two lances against Lucius's lovely chest, but compared to Lucius's three including a helmet hit, he really had no chance. Neville packed up his armour with fewer mishaps than usual, and they met Ron and Hermione back at the packed-up tent. 

"One of the town guards saw him heading east," Ron said the minute they were close enough to hear. "We need to go after him." 

"Why?" Harry asked. 

"He can't protect himself!" 

"And how is that my problem?" 

Neville said, "You're sleeping with his father?" 

"Harry, you're a knight. It's your duty," Hermione said. 

Ron nodded. 

Harry sighed. "I suppose we should find him. Not like I need to joust here again anyway." 

The smile that lit Ron's face was almost enough to make the search worth it. 

As they loaded the last of the packs on Bill, Harry said, "Ron, you realize you're a bit of a poof, right?" 

Ron paused, opened his mouth to protest, closed it. "I suppose so," he said after a minute. Then he paused again. "Oh, shit. Draco, huh?" 

Neville snorted. 

"Well, we're looking for him," Harry said. "Ready to deal with the consequences?" 

"I'll soldier on," Ron said. 

Luckily, Draco wasn't the most adept man at hiding his tracks, and less than a day's walk out of Lichfield they found him napping by a tree. They stood for a minute, looking down at his sleeping form. 

Neville said, "This is a bit anticlimactic, isn't it." 

Hermione nodded. 

"Well, it's almost dark," Harry said. "Want to make camp around him and see how long it takes him to notice?" 

An hour and a half later, just as full dark was coming on, Draco sat straight up in the tent and gasped. 

"Oh good, you're up," Ron said. "Want some dinner?" 

For once, Draco was speechless. 

After they were fed, Harry decided it was time for the Big Conversation. "So, Draco," he said. "Why didn't you tell us you were Lucius's son?" 

"And how would you have treated me if I had?" Draco asked. "You all thought I was some impoverished writer, so you didn't pay much attention to me. I didn't want your deference." 

Harry blinked at him. "You think we'd honour you just because you're a nobleman? We figured that--you're literate, after all." 

"But I'm a French nobleman," Draco said. 

Harry blinked. "Severus was right, you _are_ a snob." 

Draco sat straight up. "Severus? Why were you talking to him?" 

"He talked to me," Harry said. "I just went along for the ride." 

Draco considered. "I suppose he does that." 

"So you just didn't want to be treated differently?" Harry said, disbelieving. 

"Well, and I didn't want to be turned back over to Father," Draco said. Harry nodded. "It was hard enough to get away from him in the first place." 

Hermione said, "Then why did you come to England? It must have been easier to avoid him when you were in different countries." 

"He followed me," Draco said. 

"Why'd you want to get away from him in the first place?" asked Harry. 

"He's a bastard!" Draco said. "Although I suppose you wouldn't agree." 

"No, haven't had a problem with him." 

"Well, he's not trying to control every choice of yours," Draco said. "And, apparently, he likes you--which I find astonishing, but there's no accounting for taste." 

"I'm not sure we're sleeping together--" 

Draco winced. 

"--because he finds me charming. It's kind of, ah, mostly physical." 

Draco shook his head as if to clear it. 

"You're torturing the poor soul," Neville said. 

Harry laughed. "You sound like a monk." 

"Six years in a monastery will do that." 

"Oh, one other thing," Draco said. "Everything he does is for profit." 

"I'm sure my body is reward enough," Harry said, waggling his eyebrows. 

Draco wrinkled his nose. "Just warning you," he said. 

"Thanks," Harry said. "I'll keep that in mind." 

*** 

Around midnight, as Harry had predicted, he was awoken by a scuffle as Draco and Ron woke up and found themselves in yet another compromising position. 

"Would you just give up and fuck?" Harry said, sleepy. 

After a short pause, he heard movement again, but joined by some rather wet smacking noises and the sounds of shifting cloth. 

"And use a Silencing Charm. I don't want to hear that." 

Blessed silence. Harry rolled over and closed his eyes. 

"Silencing charm?" Draco said. 

Harry's eyes popped open. "Um--" 

"You're a _wizard_?" 

Shit, shit, shit. "Um. Yes?" 

"So am I," Draco said. 

"Me too," Ron said. 

Draco snorted. "Well, I figured that." 

"Wait," Harry said. "Is Lucius?" 

"Of course," Draco said proudly. "We're all wizards as far back as we can trace." 

"That explains how he--" 

Ron yelled, "I do NOT want to hear it!" 

"And Sir Sirius," Draco said. "He's my mother's cousin. So you've been raised by wizards." 

Harry nodded, then realized Draco couldn't see him. "Yeah." 

"This explains so much," Draco said. 

"Wonderful," Ron said. "Can we discuss it in the morning?" 

"Why?" 

"Why do you think?" 

"Ah." 

After a few more smacking noises, Harry yelled, "Silencing spell!" He only managed to fall asleep after he heard a whispered charm. 

*** 

Clap. Clap. Clap. 

"Okay, I give up," Harry said. "What are you doing?" 

Draco brandished a pair of coconuts at him. "Sound effects. I'm supposed to be your herald, after all, and we're almost in London." 

"But...coconuts?" 

"Sure." 

Suddenly, Harry blinked. "Oh. Didn't you hear? Ron killed the parody." 

"Ron!" Draco said plaintively. 

"Erm, sorry?" Ron said. 

"You take away all my fun." 

"I wouldn't say that..." 

"So where are we going?" Neville interrupted. 

"London, of course," Harry said. 

" _Where_ in London?" 

"Sirius's house. Where else?" 

Hermione blinked. "What about the tournament?" 

"Not for two days," Draco said. "I wondered why we were coming in now." 

"I need time to practice. Right, Neville?" 

"Right." 

"And then maybe I'll beat Lucius next time," Harry said. 

Ron sighed. "It's always about the arse, isn't it," he said as they rode into London. 


End file.
